President Samos brought his son to the count’s study—at least Gorde was willing to see him.

The moment they met, both knelt on the floor together.

Gorde sat in his chair, watching them calmly. He tilted his head, resting his cheek on his palm, pondering where the Claire Family had obtained the Grut herb to produce so much foamy malt beer.

“Your Grace, please help us,” President Samos quavered.

“If we take everything from the Claire Family and produce it ourselves, your domain will flourish like never before!” he declared with absolute certainty.

Gorde looked at him coldly. “Samos, why should I give it to you? Give me a reason.”

President Samos immediately lifted his gift, speaking with utmost humility. “Your Grace, my daughter Lacy Samos married into the Bolnors Family. From now on, the Samos Family will follow your lead without question!”

“The Samos Family will be your most loyal servants,” Ron Samos added, bowing respectfully.

Gorde gestured for his eldest son to accept the gift.

Lucien Giman Bolnors, Lanche’s older brother and heir to the title, stepped forward. He took the black, expensive-looking case from President Samos. It felt heavy in his hands. Opening it revealed a full chest of gold coins.

Given the Samos Family’s current finances, this chest had drained their savings.

“Your Grace and your knights have worked tirelessly for the domain’s prosperity. This gift is our token of gratitude, a small contribution to your efforts,” President Samos explained.

Gorde gave a slight nod, satisfied.

Military expenses against smugglers had strained the treasury lately.

He planned to eliminate the Claire Family next and needed funds.

“I accept your goodwill. You may leave,” Gorde said calmly, still confident in the situation.

He valued brute force—his knights were valiant, his army strong. Once he acted seriously, no smuggling scheme could survive.

As the local lord, the Claire Family was like weeds in his garden. No matter how stubborn, he could uproot them completely.

The Samos father and son were overjoyed. After profuse thanks, they departed peacefully.

Once they left, Gorde ordered his eldest son to prepare a carriage.

“Where are we going at this hour, Father?” Lucien asked, puzzled.

“To the Golden Grape Estate. To see Viscount Clarein,” Gorde replied steadily.

“Summon Freel as well.”

“Understood,” Lucien said with a smile, hurrying off.

No sooner had the Samos pair left than Gorde departed with Lucien and Freel.

Freel grew excited at the mention of the Claire Family—he guessed his father intended to remarry Miss Christia to him.

Gorde, a count who loved absolute power, hated weeds in his garden that weren’t his own.

Soon, the group arrived at the Golden Grape Estate.

It was Gorde’s first visit to his “in-laws.”

No prior notice was sent; they arrived directly at the manor gates.

“No gatekeeper?” Lucien murmured, confused.

The vast estate stood empty at the entrance—no one in sight, no one to greet them.

“Call out,” Gorde said calmly.

Lucien, slightly embarrassed, told Freel to shout—the crudest method.

Freel eagerly bellowed for Viscount Clarein and Miss Christia.

Lanche, in the courtyard, had already noticed the commotion and recognized his family’s voices but couldn’t be bothered to act.

After a while, Lekui appeared at the gate.

Relieved to see a maid, Lucien stopped his brother and flashed a polite smile. “Hello, I’m Lucien Giman Bolnors, eldest son of the Bolnors Family. Please inform your master of our visit.”

“Oh, wait,” Lekui said flatly, glancing at him before turning to report.

Lucien’s smile froze as she walked away, leaving them outside.

Sure, their unannounced visit was abrupt, but they were the count and his heirs—shouldn’t they be invited in first?

“That maid is pretty, but so rude,” Freel frowned.

Lucien stayed silent, awaiting his father’s cue.

“Wait,” Gorde said indifferently, closing his eyes to rest. He dismissed such trivialities.

He’d come to issue an ultimatum to the Claire Family, avoiding the hassle of eradicating minor smugglers.

Soon, Lekui returned to open the gate. Her cold expression showed no welcome—her displeasure was plain.

Lucien felt uneasy. When had nobles ever been treated this way?

“Excuse me, is my brother Lanche here?” he asked.

“In the courtyard,” Lekui replied casually.

“How is he?” Freel cut in eagerly.

“Fine,” Lekui answered flatly.

Lucien and Freel exchanged confused looks. What was wrong with this maid? So unprofessional.

“How has he been treated since marrying into the Claire Family?” Lucien pressed patiently.

“Okay. Just loafing around,” Lekui said calmly, a hint of resentment in her voice.

Freel grinned—he finally heard something he liked.

“Well, he’s useless anyway,” he chuckled.

“More useful than you,” Lekui shot back coldly, glancing at him.

Freel was taken aback, bewildered. He’d never met such a fierce maid.

Lucien frowned darkly. “How is his relationship with Miss Christia?”

“Average.”

“What does ‘average’ mean?”

“Average is average,” Lekui replied indifferently.

“That useless man can’t be favored anyway,” Freel laughed.

Lekui said nothing, staring at him expressionlessly.

“Uh…” Freel faltered, embarrassed. Could he be wrong? Would anyone favor a useless son-in-law?

“Shall we go in?” Lekui asked flatly, clearly impatient.

All humans here were more annoying than that guy.

Lucien glanced back at the carriage window for his father’s opinion. Something felt off about the Claire Family.

Gorde frowned slightly and waved his hand. “Go in.”

The carriage finally rolled into the estate.

Sileus, as Viscount Clarein, handled the reception.

Kestia refused to appear—she already guessed Gorde’s demands.

“The Claire Family need not hand over their brewing techniques,” Gorde stated his revised terms, “but Miss Christia must remarry. You can father another child to inherit the title.”

Of course, he’d take a cut too.

Sileus wasted no words. His orders were clear: reject everything.